Running From Never Land
by Galimatias
Summary: A boy who could fly. An old codfish who hated children and was excellent at writing contracts. And a little girl with nothing but the hope to escape something she wasn't sure of, looking for something she had never had and receiving something of which she thought she didn't deserve. Because family shows up in the strangest of places and is as different as a lost girl and a pirate.


**Hi guys! Galimatias here! OMG, I know it took me, what?, two years to actually do this, but here it is. The new and revamped story that started me on this website. And, you know what? I read over my story and realized something. I was a terrible writer. Like, I had the basics. And the story line. But god help me if I wanted to write something that was worth anything. And yet, I improved. Granted, I was fourteen when I started that story. And though I've always loved writing, it really was the first story I had written. And here I am now, almost 19 years old and a better writer than I've ever been. I've improved more than I could have ever have imagined, written stories that I'm proud to have up on this site and an amount of reviews that I couldn't have even dreamed of. And you know what? I give you guys most of the credit. It truly is the readers that make the writer, and I really am indebted to you.**

**And, for some reason, tons of people suddently began requesting I update my story "Never Say Never in Never Land" and I was all like... why? It's not even that good. But, as I said, I'm in your debt. So I decided to go one step further. And write the whole damn thing again. And by that I mean new storyline, never character development, better writing styles, longer chapters and much grimmer situations. AND because you just LOVE IT, FLUFF! Because everyone who messaged or reviewed seems to love the fluff. So here's what I'll do. You'll get your fluff. But in portions. And not for a while. Because now I've decided to be truer to not only the Disney Animated classic, but the book and other adaptations as well. Hook will be ruthless, cruel, brutish. And... so will Smee! Because, have you listened to that guy speak. OMG! HE'S, LIKE, SO CRUEL UNDER ALL THOSE SMILES!**

**One last reminder for readers who are just beginning this. While this IS based on lots of different adaptations, it is LOOSELY done so. Really this is based on the animated version that came out of Disney studios in 1953. **

**Anyway, cannot wait to see what y'all think about the new and improved story. It will get a little bit heavy at times, but not to worry! We'll get through this together guys! TAKE MY HAND! WE'RE GOING TO A PLACE WHERE WE'LL NEVER GROW UP AGAIN! BECAUSE COLLEGE FEES SUCK AND BOATS ARE COOL!**

**OFF TO NEVERLAND!**

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**o0o**

_"The reason birds can fly and we can't _

_is simply because they have perfect faith, _

_for to have faith is to have wings."_

~J.M. Barrie

**o0o**

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It would be of the greatest falsehood to simply introduce this as one story. Most tales are often started with the phrase "once upon a time" or "in a far off land". It is my sworn oath to sway you from any sort of fabrication, be it that this is a story of magic and so fabrication had to have been involved in the creation of fairies and such. For what are fairies but the mixture of hope and belief, and that can come from the idea of something quite unbelievable.

But I digress. As the narrator, I find that the best way to begin a story is with the absolute truth of the stories content, and so I begin with just that. For I am never one to deceive, you least of all dearest reader. And, therefore, this story will not begin with "once upon a time" or "in a far off land" for the simplest of reasons that this story does not take place in once time, nor did it take place in one land. And that land was, based on one's current geography and situation, most likely closer then one would first begin to imagine.

And this story, unlike many others, is really the stories of many people. A boy who could fly and was good at crowing. A little girl with nothing but loyalty and who was an expert at running away. And an old pirate who hated children and who was excellent at writing contracts. And a book. Because, really, what story is complete without a single inanimate character. And, in this story, that character is a book.

And this story, unlike many others, actually begins in the middle.

The beginning, and I must apologize, is of dire importance, but will not be shown. And the end is for your creation, but we won't arrive there quite yet so I'll just allow your mind to wander. However, this story must begin so I will begin it as it should be begun.

And this story, unlike many others, begins with another little girl.

Her name was Wendy and she had been plucked away from her bedroom window alongside two loyal brothers to lands filled with mystery and adventure and everything a child should ever dream of. And then her story ended, and she grew up.

The story also begins with another little girl. Daughter to the first, she was mistaken, and then taken, and experienced being a child, even if the worst of times crumbled upon them with landmines and smoke and families being separated. And then, just like before, her story ended, though not quite so quickly.

But truly, reader, this story begins with a war. Because most things tragically must begin with a war, and so must this one too. The First World War had hit Britain harder than they could have imagined. Thinking themselves safe behind the ground leisure was interrupted by sirens and bombings. Fathers were quick to leave homes and fight bravely for flags and mothers, for once in a very long time, had to assume a position of control they had never quite needed before. Wearing the trousers, as the saying goes, was not all too common, but it needed to be done, and necessity through terror is often the cruelest of beasts.

The war raged through countrysides, city's, towns, and, miraculously, even up to the heavens towards a certain star that stood exactly three hundred miles from another twin star and yet, from below, looked a mere half inch away. Tensions rose as the adults of such a location began to lose the ability of passage back to the human world and smaller boys who often took similar journeys had to postpone indefinitely until planes ceased their attacks. Life was not at its smoothest, and as many know, when life is like this it is best to either be productive in the advancement towards a greater good or to simply sit still and wait.

Peter Pan did neither of these things, and instead decided to find a new Wendy.

But Wendy's were not be be found in times of war. There was no peace, and children who had parents with best interests were already in far away countries being housed by others until they could return. The children who were left were the small factory workers, the lowest of orphans and those who had been abandoned long ago.

And sometimes, a little bit of each was found.

And it was here, in this grayish area, flying low over cities looking more like piles of rubble, listening to far off sirens, that he found Lillie.

Lillie was five, going on six and their conversation was brief, but somewhat meaningful, by childrens standards. He was the boy with the bright smile and mended stockings and the ability to fly. She was the girl sitting on a pile of rubble and nothing else much more.

"Hi there!" Peter was always cheerful, because he always did believe that happiness was the key to everything.

She looked up at him, long dark hair helping to hide the soot that covered it. Not that the soot didn't show against her skin and under her nails. "Hullo," she said in a far too American accent to be British in the least.

"I'm Peter Pan!"

"I'm Lillie."

"Lillie what?"

"Just Lillie." She shrugged her bony shoulders, and her tattered dress moved with it. "I don't really like my last name. It's too icky."

"Oh." The boy thought for a moment, floating down to sit cross legged on the rubble adjacent to her, head tilting. He scratched his hair, green cap bobbing. "That's all right I guess. Most of the Lost Boys don't have last names anyhow."

"Lost Boys? Is that some group of workers or something?"

"No! We don't work! We never work!" He looked at her strangely. "You work?" Because he'd never once in his life thought of young children needing to do such a thing. But she nodded, holding out her small hands to display the canvas of blisters, scars, small pink cuts.

"The orphanage I'm from, they make you pay to eat and stay. But that's fine. I need something, and something is better than nothing I think. But… can I tell you a secret?" And she leaned closer.

"Of course." He did the same, bowing his head towards her. All children trusted Peter Pan. No one quite knew why. But they all did. And because of this, it was just so easy to bring them off to NeverLand. Or simply learn the secrets they daren't tell. Because children often have the darkest secrets to hide.

She nodded, cupping her hands round her mouth. "I'm running away," she whispered.

"From the orphanage?" He murmured back. Looking behind her he could see the dilapidated building she had most likely come from. "Mrs. Plume's House for Girls". It didn't look a thing like a girly house, because, in Peter's personal opinion, all Girly houses should be pink and covered in petunias. This one was dark, and the bricks were cracked and the windows had bars. But she didn't seem too miffed by it, so he tried to take his glare off those barred windows, feeling like a trapped bird just by looking at them, and instead trained his eyes on her brown ones once more. "You're running away from the orphanage? All by yourself?"

She nodded, a small smile on her face, and he thought that she looked a good deal better when she smiled. "Yes," she said, proudly. "And…" she leaned close again, "I'm running from… _her_."

"Who's her?"

But she didn't seem to want to elaborate, switching subjects with practiced ease. "I've run away before. Lots of times. And I get caught sometimes, but less and less now. I've gotten good at it. But the last orphanage that caught me tried to cut off my hair as punishment." She grabbed the ends of the long, dark locks, protectively. "I couldn't let them, because I like my hair. And besides, it's where I keep all my pins." Her sly smile was back. "Last year, I learned how to pick locks. I bet I'm the youngest lock picker in the world. Anyway, I ran away from them after that. And now I'm here."

"And," he pressed.

She shrugged. "It's better. I've only been hit once for dropping Mrs. Plume's tea." She pulled down the shoulder of her dress to display a long, angry lash, already healed but showing the beginnings of a silvery scar. Peter winced at the sight, but she didn't even flinch, casually pulling the sleeve of her dress back up and tilting her head to look at him. Her hair trailed down her shoulders like smoke stacks. "Don't you live somewhere?"

And that was when Peter made the decision. As of this day, Reader, it is debatable whether of not that decision was the best of ones. Though, in truth, all Peter's decisions can be questioned with the utmost of scrutiny. However, it was _this_ action that we must look closely at. Had he simply left the girl on the rubble pile, her curious gaze lifted to the sky, she would have continued her life with the same casual and grim sort of nature. And maybe she would have died and maybe she wouldn't. But that hardly matters because Peter didn't leave her there. Instead he stuck out his hand, fingers spread like a starfish keening at the shore, and said,

"Come with me!"

She tilted her head further, and her long hair finally touched the rubble, collecting more dirt. "To where?"

"Never Land!"

"How do we get there?"

"Fly, of course!" He took a moment. "But Tink isn't with me right now. She's my fairy," he added when her eyebrows crumpled in confusion, "That's alright though. If you just hold onto me we'll be fine."

"But _where_ is NeverLand?" She followed his finger when he pointed up.

"Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning!"

"It sounds interesting." She pursed her lips, looked up at him hopefully. "Are there books there?"

"Of course not! We just play games all day like buried treasure and tag! And sometimes we hunt! Why?"

"I dunno… Mrs. Plume says girls aren't 'llowed to read, but I always wanted to learn." She glanced almost mournfully at the building behind her. "One of the older girls was going to start teaching me tomorrow." Small pearly white baby teeth flashed as she bit her lip in deep ponder. "She told me that the most important thing was reading."

"Aw, she's probably wrong."

Lillie looked almost taken aback. "But she's almost an adult! A while fifteen years old! I mean, that must mean she's right, right?"

Peter wrinkled his own nose. "Take it from me, girl, adults are _never_ right. All they want to do is spoil your fun."

"But-"

"What would you rather be doing? Playing like a normal kid or reading in some stupid room with some stupid adult."

Lillie was going to fight back in protest of the comment. After all, she did have a rather large amount of ammunition that she could have used. Like, she had never really played like a normal kid. She'd never been allowed. And the older girl wasn't stupid. She was smart. And because she could read the factory gave her a whole ten cent wage, and truly, Lillie had been hoping to follow in her footsteps. Being able to read here was a gift, a true treasure. It was more valuable than anything in the world. That older girl had stolen a book from a cart weeks ago and told Lillie about the adventures it contained in hushed whispers underneath covers.

_It's a story about pirates_, the older girl, whose name happened to be Ann-Marie (far too pretty of a name for a girl in an orphanage, Lillie always thought) said in her smooth English accent, far nicer next to the seemingly clumsiness of the smaller girls own Mideastern one, _and adventure. So much adventure!_

Lillie's eyes, wide, begging to hear more, her hands clutching at the sheets. _Are there big fights?_

Ann-Marie had smirked. _Enormous fights._

_And swords! _Lillie had always wanted to partake in a battle with a rapier and was delighted when Ann-Marie responded,

_Oh yes! And cannons and guns and fire! I must tell you, even after a day of factory work, books…_ her eyes grew far off for a moment, and in the dark the younger of the two could see them shimmer. _Books take you away from all that. And they give you an adventure._

Lillie had never been allowed an adventure. Unless you counted every scar on her back and counted the stories that they dragged along as adventures, but she prefered not to. A real adventure. That's what she needed. A true, real adventure. And yet, living on earth with the prospect of becoming something incredible. She was a hard working, and with reading, who knows what she could do. And then, as if answering her prayers,

_I could teach you, you know_, Ann-Marie held her book to her chest with one splayed hand, grabbing the youngest digits in the other. _I could show you how! And then you and me, we could read books together! It will be like a club! Unless of course… you plan on running away. As you told me._

She was answered with a determined nod.

_I still think it's foolish, though whatever you choose, I suppose it has to be the right choice. But… _her lips had crinkled, _how about you leave after I teach you. Simply the basics. Enough for you to get by. You might be able to earn a few pennies a week on it and then you'll at least be able to feed yourself an extra slice of bread and a cuppa a day. That's something else, I'll tell you_.

_Alright!_ Lillie's baby teeth flashed. _I want to learn to read!_

There had been sounds of feet on the stair and Lillie had scrambled back to her own bed as quickly as she could. That didn't save her, as the door opened just as her foot had hid beneath the thin sheets. Ann-Marie had gotten off with an odd look. Lillie had gotten by with three lashes instead of the customary five- a true blessing in the eyes of the abused one. And besides, thoughts of pirates had littered her skull and she'd thought of nothing more but the idea that, though the switch cut deep and she'd most likely be left with some sort of mark, she could at least say that she'd fought a pirate and received them all. Battle scars came with better stories, after all, then the thought of… _her_.

But now she'd never know what the book entailed, and she'd never quite learn how to read. Not if she went with the strange boy who offered her his hand and a charming smile and a promise of something she wasn't quite sure of in the first place. "I don't know…"

"Come on. It'll be fun! And what's reading anyway but a bunch of words! Where we are you can do anything you want! You can meet a mermaid!"

"I don't like mermaids."

"You can say hullo to Indians."

"I can say hullo to everyone else too!"

"You can fight a pirate!"

And that caught her attention. Head up, eyes wide, "truly?" She bit her lip. He was beginning to make some semblance of sense. What were books about pirates when you could simply fight one.

"Yeah! And since you're a girl I'm sure they'll go easy on you. Hey! You're a girl! Maybe you can be our mother too because-"

"No!" And Peter had never seen a small child move so fast as the one currently occupying the space in front of him. "No. I don't want to be a mother."

"Everyone needs a mother."

"I don't. And I don't want to be a mother." Her hands crossed over her chest, brown orbs facing dirt. "Never ever. Not even in Never Land."

Peter thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay. That's fine. We don't really _need_ a mother, anyway. We had one once, and she was nice enough, but she was also kind of mean when everyone wanted to go away with her. No one will want to go away with you." He nodded, smile returning. "Alright then! You don't have to be! Still wanna come?!"

She thought. It was certainly a good idea. A real adventure was something she craved. But somehow the thought of living her dream, meager as it was, called to her too. She wanted to prove people wrong. She would never cry or scream of stamp her foot because of the unfairness of it all because, really, what would that do. But she could work until her hands bled and prove them all wrong.

But _adventure_…

And this, dear Reader, is where each one must make the decision of their own, and it will always differ, I will promise you that. It may seem like a brutal future, but what future isn't? And though goals are a fickle thing, to have one is to have hope, and to abandon a goal is to abandon all of that which one has created.

As I said previously, Reader, one can never truly tell the fate of the girl if she had stayed, whether it be death or life. But that doesn't matter, because she did take the hand that waited in front of her, and she did allow it to pull her upward towards the sky, towards the star, towards a future filled with more things she'd never be able to imagine.

A future filled with horrors and some hope and an uncertain end.

But she went, and that's all that matters in the end.

But this, Reader, is still not where our story begins. Actually, our story begins with a single look. Which, I suppose, is an odd way to begin a story seeing as I've already explained so much to you about war and talking and other such eventful things as that. But, in the end, it was a look that began this tale.

It was not the wide eyes that Lillie used to observe Never Land's spectacular atmosphere, nor the curious ones she used to look upon the small island and endless ocean, trapping everything into a small portion of geography. Instead, it was the look when Peter came up with the idea.

"How about you and me pay the old Pirate Captain a visit, huh?" he grinned a grin more evil than good, and the two of them swooped before she'd had time to even answer. Cirling 'round like vultures high in the cumulous. Below there was whistling, calling out, sounds of scrabbling against a wooden deck. She'd heard sounds like these at boarding docks when she'd been given errands from the Matron of the orphanage to travel in places no five year old (going on six, she'd argue) should be allowed to travel alone. But she had, and those sounds were ones one can identify from a mile away once they've been heard once.

There was canon fire, holes poked like bolts in factories through steel into the clouds beside them, Peter's laugh ringing in her ears. She wasn't sure whether she should have been scared or not, but she certainly could feel her heart against the bones that slightly protruded against her skin. And she was sure, if everything had gone quiet, everyone could hear it. Adventure. This was an _adventure_.

And then they'd gone down for a dive. RIght at the ship, making sure to avoid all sorts of weaponry that was shot and stabbed towards them. Swooping in and out of burly men so quickly, all Lillie had time to see was the blurred ink of tattoos, and possibly smell the strange mix of ocean salt and floor wax and sweat. And nothing had really happened until, by accident, or possibly on purporse, Peter dropped Lillie.

She was close enough to the deck for the fall not to hurt, but she was sure that a nice bruise would have been developing the next morning. She groaned, rising on flight shaken legs.

"Whose this now…"

She'd looked up.

He didn't look like the other pirates. Far too finely dressed, a red coat draped around a lanky frame that told her nothing of heavy lifting work, nor of extensive excersize. But he held the sword in his hand professionally enough. And the long black curls helped to hide just how sharp and boney his shoulders were, giving him enough depth to look intimidating. Of course, that was elevated more when his left hand rose to meet the waning light and glimmered with a kind of reflection no hand could catch.

A hook. A curved, sharpened, deadly hook.

She still had yet to decide if fear was the main emotion stirring within her, but she did swallow down the lead in her throat, refusing to move her eyes from the deadly appendage.

"I asked you a _question_, scurvy brat."

She didn't answer still, voice having left her.

"I'll assume that you're simply biding your time here. But I've never met you before so I must tell you," he tested his blade with a steady thumb, and it drew blood on impact. "I am a true gentleman, and the only one you'll find for miles around. Good form is my conduct, and based on good form, it is much more considerate for my victim to at least look me in the eye before I slaughter them." She met his eyes with quiet fear and curiosity. Dark brown eyes met cold blue ones. "Well, I suppose that's it then." And he lunged.

The sword hit the deck as Lillie ran, as quickly as she could, away from the pirate whom, after prying his sword from the deck's grasp with much cursing, chased her with fast feet and orders to _catch the girl_. But Lillie was a runner, and in a choice of flight or fight she would always be the bird. A bird who couldn't fly, but could run until her pulse beat faster then she could count, and she did the same now.

"Peter!" She screamed, hearing his laughter elsewhere on deck. "Peter!" There was a flash as steel met the ground beside her and she swerved. "Peter!" She ducked behind a pole, moving quickly around it and truly wondering what she had gotten into when Peter finally did decide to show his face, swatting the pirates away with clever words and a dagger. The one with the coat screamed at the flying boy, cursing him for every terrible doing that had ever occurred on island and at sea.

But the boy had just laughed again, crowing towards the sky and going to finally pick Lillie from her spot behind the pole. And the pirates had raced towards them, as she supposed pirates will do, but they were over the rail before they could do anything. And flying over the ocean he jabbered on about all the fights they'd have with pirates and indians and the adventures they'd have but she simply looked back at the ship, chest throbbing.

"Who was that?"

"Who? Oh! That was Captain Hook. He's the first pirate I ever faced and I cut off his hand and fed it to a crocodile. I'll tell you all about it when we get back. It's a great story! You'll love it! Speaking of stories, do you know any? Because Wendy, I'll tell you about her, had all these great stories and we would _love_ to hear more from you! Do you think you can-"

She wasn't listening. Eyes glued on the boat. And in that instant brown met ice blue. Five year old eyes met adult eyes. She'd seen the eyes of those much older then her before, but these were different. These _terrified_ her in ways she couldn't explain. And somehow, she realized, as some part of her brain as it sparked to life with screams of warnings so loud it made her dizzy, she had met her match. She was young, yes, but she had already ran so many times. And this was supposed to be the last time. Her final scars left behind her. A chance to live without fear. And yes, without education, and without the company of females and without the hard work that had fueled her existence. But a life without the pain, the confusion, the fear- she had hoped it would be worth it.

In that moment she realized she had left it behind only to enter into a challenge that she'd have to face. Nothing would change.

And this, dear Reader, is the Look that begins our story.

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**Thanks so much for reading! The next chapter will be longer, I promise. And it will actually be the story not this kind of stuff. You'll see this pop up every so often, but not, like, every fifth chapter. Like, every ten. Because no one wants a narrator to tell you everything! LETS GET SOME ACTION, RIGHT! **

**And for those who are confused, I did make Jane a person going through WW1. Why? Because Wendy was about 12 during the first movie and about 30 during the second. And the first took place in about 1880. And I can honestly promise that she didn't suddenly become 50 years old. The only plausible thing to do was set it up in WW1 era. And, besides, it works better to my advantage! POETIC LICENSE PEOPLE! HERE! LOOK AT IT, OFFICER! I REALLY DO CARY IT AT ALL TIMES!**

**~Galimatias**


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